


r and his kids

by leov66



Series: dum vivimus, vivamus [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Percy Jackson Fusion, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Swordfighting, also courf is aphrodites son just saying !!, hes a Good boy tm, i love grantaire and he needed this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 19:03:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12326997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leov66/pseuds/leov66
Summary: He's never really considered himselt being good with kids, let alone being a good enough role model for anyone. Apparently, he was wrong, because on his way back to the cabins one morning, he was met by a group of nervous children looking at him like he's hung the stars on the sky or something.aka a lighthearted prequel to the story, feat. courfeyrac and r's bickering and a very impressed enjolras





	r and his kids

**Author's Note:**

> i just felt like i did my boy r dirty. hes a ray of sunshine and he deserved better. im still mad at myself

The sun has barely even risen when Grantaire is up and ready, circling around Courfeyrac with a sword in his hand and a somewhat self-assured smirk.

 

“When I said _let it out,”_ Courfeyrac huffs, “I didn't mean _beat my ass at five in the morning.”_

 

“You're just mad that I'm better than you, Prince Charming,” Grantaire replies, easily dodging a half-assed lunge.

 

“It's not like you ever shut up about it, sunshine.”

 

They could go on for hours in that mechanical dance of throught-out attacks and blocks, having practiced together enough times to know there's no way of surprising the other anymore. In the end (well, most of the times), it's Grantaire who's pressing his sword against a panting Courfeyrac's neck. It's a pattern, a comfortable routine they've fallen into years ago, and it's what shaped Grantaire into a morning person. Knowing his love for procrastination, he wouldn't even leave Cabin Six until breakfast if it wasn't for that morning practice. Courfeyrac, once nicknamed Sleeping Beauty for his renown ability to sleep for fifteen hours and stil look like an angel instead of something that's just left Parisian sewers, absolutely despises the ungodly hour, but shows up almost every single morning; however, afterwards he spends at least an hour napping (after a shower, because that's _so_ unhealthy for your skin, R, you don't understand). By seven, they're both too tired to go on, and that's usually where the kids come. 

 

He's never really considered himselt being good with kids, let alone being a good enough role model for anyone. Apparently, he was wrong, because on his way back to the cabins one morning, he was met by a group of nervous children looking at him like he's hung the stars on the sky or something.

 

“Excuse me, are you...are you Renè Grantaire?”, one of the kids said, the cockiest one probably. He utterly butchered the pronounciation, but Grantaire appreciated the effort nonetheless. 

 

“I don't know any _Grand Air,_ kiddo, but if you're looking for Grant- _aire_ ,” he laughed, “then yeah, that's me.”

 

“You think you could…uh…could you teach us how to fight like you? You’re so badass!”

 

Grantaire mumbles something under his nose, obviously caught unaware, and Courfeyrac promptly loses his shit and has to hide his face in his hands so it doesn’t look like he’s crying from laughing too hard.

 

“Meet me here tomorrow, seven in the morning, not a minute later, and we’ll see,” Grantaire replies after pretending he’s thinking it through.

 

Considering his memory is really good (or so Courfeyrac says), it took him almost two full weeks of daily training with the young campers to remember their names, but it also could've been for the fact that every day, a new one came until Grantaire came to the conclusion that trying to manage fifteen kids running around with swords wasn't the best idea and split them up in three groups according to their slills.

 

“Why wouldn’t you sort them by age?”, Courfeyrac laughed at him from the benches, relaxing in the sun like some kind of cat. “Don't you think it's pretty disheartening for a twelve-year old to fight a ten-year old?”

 

“First of all, don’t question my decisions and thus my leadership. Second of all, because that’s dumb. What matters is how they fight, not how old they are,” was Grantaire’s answer. And so it started.

 

As hard as it might seem to try to control a hyperactive group, he handled everything pretty well most of the time. Every four months, they switched the style up, so in a year he managed to teach them the basics of swordfighting, archery and wrestling (courtesy of Bahorel, Iris’ son). Courfeyrac sat and watched first, but eventually joined in, too, correcting their postures or helping them aim. Some quit on their own, either unwilling to wake up at six thirty or just unable to keep up with their groups’ level. Grantaire respected that and never tried to convince them to stay. Those who stayed, however, started to feel like his little siblings over time, not only the Apollo kids. Especially Gavroche, the one that asked him that first day if he’d want to train them. His sister came around every so often, if only to watch. They even talked sometimes.

 

“Are you and your boyfriend gonna get kids one day?”, Courfeyrac asks with a shit-eating grin, striking Grantaire right under his ribs and breaking him away from his thoughts.

 

“Fuck off, pretty boy, we’re not even dating yet.”

 

“Honey, sparks literally fly around the two of you, you can’t deny that you’d smash that.” Courferyac stops mid-lunge to stare at Grantaire with those caleidoscopic eyes, perhaps to assert dominance in the conversation. 

 

“More like, take that out stargazing and kiss it like it’s more beautiful than the nightsky and _then_ smash that. God, he’s perfect.”

 

“I can’t stand your dumb pining, just kiss him, I swear it’s not that hard.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve seen enough of you and ’Ferre to know that for the rest of my life.”

 

“Hey, I miss him when he’s gone, okay? We’ve gotta, you know, catch up.”

 

“Catch up on _what exactly,_ you-”

 

“Don’t even try to finish this sentence, I’m begging you,” Gavroche joins in, early as usual, probably already warmed up and everything. What a kid, Grantaire wishes he was as motivated when he was thirteen.

 

“Ready to kick ass?”, Grantaire asks.

 

“You bet I am, old man, I’m gonna get you so bad this time!”

 

“You always say that, Gav.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You know what, babe,” Grantaire whispers, grinning like a fool against Enjolras’ golden hair, “California is pretty cool, but I miss my kids already.”

 

“ _Your_ _what now_?”

 

“Courfeyrac never told you? There are, uh, a few campers, that are ten, twelve maybe, that I teach in the mornings. The basics of swordfighting, archery, this kinda stuff. They say they love it.”

 

“Really?” Enjolras looks enamoured in the way his eyes light up in even bigger adoration. It’s almost like he’s thinking _not only smart and beautiful, but also good with kids_ , or maybe it’s just Grantaire’s imagination.

 

“Yeah, it’s pretty satisfying to watch them grow up and get better. Don’t you have this kinda thing in your camp?”

 

“Not yet, but looks like I’ve got something to talk about in the next Senate meeting,” Enjolras says, “it could help them before they join the legion, so we have something to work with, perhaps we could-”

 

“Now that’s what we’ve talked about, no politics on dates, you’re supposed to relax. Shut up and kiss me.”

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr is [@euphra-sie](https://euphra-sie.tumblr.com) hit me Up


End file.
